WHODUNWHAT?
THINGS AREN'T ALWAYS as they appear. One minute, I'm totally fine. The next, I'm hunched over and clutching my stomach in sheer agony. What the hell is happening to me?
I have no idea. All I know is what I feel, and what I feel I can't believe. It's as if the lining of my stomach is suddenly peeling away with a corrosive burn. I'm screaming and I'm moaning, but most of all I'm praying - praying for this to stop.
It doesn't.
The burning continues, a blistering hole forms, and the bile trickles out of my stomach with a sizzling . . . drip . . . drip . . . drip . . . over my entrails. The smell of my own melting flesh fills the air.
I'm dying, I tell myself.
But no, it's worse than that. Much worse. I'm being skinned alive - from the inside out.
And it's only just beginning.
Like a firework, the pain shoots up and explodes into my throat. It cuts off all air and I struggle to breathe. Then I collapse. My arms prove useless, unable to break the fall. Headfirst I hit the hardwood floor and bust open my skull. Blood, plum red and thick, oozes from above my right eyebrow. I blink a few times, but that's all. The gash doesn't even factor in. Needing a dozen stitches is the least of my current problems.
The pain gets worse, continues to spread.
Through my nose. Out to my ears. Right smack into my eyes, where I can feel the vessels popping like bubble wrap. I try to stand. I can't. When I finally manage to, I try to run. All I can do is stumble forward. My legs are leaden. The bathroom is ten feet away. It might as well be ten miles. Somehow I make it. I get there, lock the door behind me. My knees buckle and, again, I collapse to the floor. The cold tile greets my cheek with a horrific crack! as my back molar splits in two.
I can see the toilet but like everything else in the bathroom it's moving. Everything is spinning and I reach for the sink, arms flailing, to try and hold on. No chance. My body begins to thrash as if a thousand volts are coursing through my veins.
I try to crawl.
The pain is officially everywhere, including my fingernails, which dig into the tile grout and inch me forward. I desperately grab the base of the toilet and drag my head up over the lip.
For a second, my throat opens and I gasp for air. I begin to heave and the muscles in my chest stretch and twist. One by one, they tear as if razor blades are slashing through them. There's a knocking on the door. Quickly, I turn my head. It's getting louder and louder. More a pounding now. Were it only the grim reaper to put me out of this excruciating misery.
But it's not - not yet, at least - and that's the moment I realize that I may not know what killed me tonight, but I know for damn sure who did it.
Copyright © 2005 by James Patterson
